


draw me like one of your cyborg girls

by idiotequed



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Nonsense, Sewing, Short, orihime's imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotequed/pseuds/idiotequed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment with two Handicrafts Club weirdos.  Sheer, brief cotton candy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	draw me like one of your cyborg girls

Sometimes, Orihime loses track of her needle, her hand moving even as her eyes stray and catch over Ishida-kun’s shoulder. She leans closer, unconsciously, to better watch as he navigates the pencil on the paper: smooth, fluid lines, shifts in his wrist spilling out the frills of a skirt, like waves breaking. He sketches with ease and precision, a scant few minutes giving way to flowing hems and high collars. Most of his attention, the finest details, goes to the clothing, but the models are not always vague, long-legged marionettes; some are much shorter, some with a scowl she’s sure he would deny, some with hair that hangs in their eyes and large, powerful arms. 

She doesn’t recognize herself and it surprises her to realize it disappoints her. Orihime looks now and smiles at the ribbons bowed on the woman’s pointed heels. Her hand wanders, now stitching her tea cozy into her skirt as she leans such that her shoulder presses into his, and his pencil jumps, a zipper tearing through its sleeve. 

"Ah-“ she starts, apologetic, and he shakes his head, shifting in his seat, farther from her. 

"Do you need something, Inoue-san?” he asks, and he sounds tight and controlled. It’s nostalgic and a little funny, which has her fighting a smile, because she’s supposed to be feeling bad. His jaw’s clenching, too, and he isn’t looking at her, so he must be pretty annoyed, taking a moment to erase the hard, errant line and reach for his glasses. 

When he does look, his eyes eventually find her hands and with them the state of her skirt. His fingers press against the desk, resisting correction; she smiles at him, oblivious.

"You’re really good, Ishida-kun! It’s fun to watch, you know; when you’re designing.“ 

"Er… really? I’d expect it to be boring,” he answers, confusion knitting in his brow. 

"Nope! Besides, when Ishida-kun’s drawing, or sewing, he looks so happy.“ Orihime insists, and though he rarely smiles, she knows it, has felt it, known it in the softer lines of his face, the peace in his intensity. 

(Besides, she’s no good, not really, so she can’t help but admire him. She has the _talent_ , she knows, but modern technology has yet to catch up with what she designs. Her enthusiasm tends to get away from her as well; she’s passed too many club sessions with her pencil racing eagerly across the page, sixteen designs in an hour, but the necessary metal alloy three centuries from invention.) 

His jaw works again and his hand lifts, haltingly, as his chin begins to turn. Before his eyes can leave her, she speaks, the words an unexpected jumble, "Butyouknow–" 

Orihime breathes, blinking, wondering what she meant to say and realizing it at once, that niggling voice that now drops her eyes, embarrassed but pressing. 

"Um, well, that last one was Sado-kun, and before that Kunieda-chan, and I think I’ve seen Ishida-kun draw everyone in all sorts of fun things, but…" 

She falters, staring at her thumbs, not yet noticing where she’d joined together dissimilar fabrics, thinking she must sound awful. Only the silence is worse; he has not said anything and she has not looked to see his expression, to misinterpret the color in his face and his throat’s efforts in swallowing. 

"But,” she thinks she should try again, rather than be sucked up by the void, and have to duel with the extraterrestrials on the other side of that black hole with only a half finished tea cozy, “But I was wondering why– I mean, what–”

"Inoue-san,“ he interrupts, his voice gentle, and his long fingers direct the pencil into her vision, pointing it to the new threads in her skirt, "should pay attention." 

Orihime squeaks, fretting at the brief decommissioning of her anti-alien weapon, and forgets her query for the day. 

Ishida-kun puts away his sketchbook and stands, moving around the classroom to supervise. 

He is careful and has only the one book at school, had even before he began to notice her attention. He knows how it would look, after all. He knows how it would look, though he cannot stop his hand, can less and less resist the need to dress her, to draw her, and his mind’s ready fount of floral and lace. On those pages, he slips: a minute for the light in her eyes and the swell of her lips, and seconds for her tights. He knows how it would look, and sometimes, he allows it, and sometimes, he indulges: sometimes, he wonders if it isn’t just as it seems.

**Author's Note:**

> I was flipping idly through my tumblr and discovered this from two years ago. I figured, why not? It's OK and I still love them.


End file.
